


Remember My Last

by amidtheflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Growth, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, M/M, PTSD, Post-War, Seventh year, bisexual harry is the only harry, but Drarry will be more prominent, but hopefully better than the epilogue, made a few changes and yes those ships are correct, teddy/harry is a family relationship, there was no epilogue, time skip, will skip to a next gen fic midway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:16:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amidtheflowers/pseuds/amidtheflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry dreams, he sees silver skies and lightning. It gives him comfort.<br/>When Teddy dreams, he sees a gentle face. He wishes he wouldn't see it anymore.<br/>Draco doesn't dream at all.</p>
<p>A tale of Harry's journey after surviving a war, but more importantly, surviving himself. A tale of Teddy struggling to understand his godfather, and why the sight of him makes his grandmother cry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hello! Some of you may know me from my other fics, most of you may not. This story is very close to my heart and it will be a work in progress writing, but I promise every single chapter will be worth it.
> 
> This story is a post-war fic that follows canon up to a certain point. Ships aren't a priority in this fic but they will happen. To put any questions at bay, Drarry will be the prominent relationship...take that as you will. 
> 
> This story will broken into two parts. The first part will be in the perspective of Harry, just like the books. The second part will be in the narrative of Teddy Lupin.
> 
> Sorry for the long-winded intro, now onwards to the story! xx
> 
> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and its respective characters belong to J.K. Rowling. This plot line, however, belongs to me.

**_Remember My Last_**

**.**

**.:.:.**

**.:.:.:.**

“You’re just different now, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

-Leo Fitz, _Agents of Shield_

**.:.:.:.**

**.:.:.**

**.**

**Chapter One**  

Harry Potter, eighteen, sat stiffly in a wooden chair as he stared at the man before him.

The man in question was dressed in deep plum robes adorned with silver shooting stars, a cushioned hat with a golden tassel dangling off the side, and staring at Harry as if he didn’t quite know what to do with him.

“Harry Potter.”

“Kingsley.”

Kingsley’s eyebrows rose. “First time I heard you say my first name. It’s a bit exciting.”

“Yeah, figured seeing a war together brought us closer. Bit of a regal name, isn’t it?”

“A bit,” Kingsley smiled. He picked up the file on his desk. “Your application was very thorough.”

“‘Was’, sir?”

“Back to ‘sir’, then?”

“Situation demands it, I think.”

Kingsley sighed. “Harry.”

“Sir.”

“Your application is thorough,” said Kingsley, taking the liberty to flip through the pages. “You already have more field experience than most wizards accepted into the academy. Your letters of recommendation—”

“Excellent, from what I was told, sir.”

“—excellent,” Kingsley agreed. “I was particularly drawn to a lengthy one that had seven different words for ‘brilliant’.”

Harry’s lips twitched into a small, private smile. “I’m happy to hear that.”

Kingsley’s smiled faded. Closing the file, Kingsley sighed and folded his hands, leaning against the desk. “Harry,” he said gravely. “We both know you’re more than qualified to enter our Auror academy. My advisors would tell me to bring you in tomorrow, if they knew you were here for an interview.”

Harry said nothing.

“Is there a reason you’ve decided to pursue this career?”

Harry raised a mocking eyebrow. Kingsley smiled wryly and shook his head.

“Let me rephrase. Is there a reason you’d rather work here than finish your last year of school?”

Harry bristled, shifting in his chair defensively. “If it’s courses or credits required, I was told it wouldn’t matter—”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Kingsley firmly. “Not for you or your classmates. I’m simply curious as to why you won’t consider returning for your seventh year.”

“I—there’s no need,” Harry was bewildered. “I’ve seen enough. There’s nothing they could teach me for a final year when I’ve lived their lessons already.”

Kingsley pursed his lips. Lowering his voice, Kingsley said softly, “Molly told me you moved out three days ago. Is that a factor in your decision?”

“I don’t think personal matters are part of the interview, sir,” Harry said stiffly.

“Harry…” Kingsley looked at Harry sadly. “It’s only been two months. Take a vacation. Grow a garden. I know what it is you’re avoiding, and I’m telling you now it’s only going to get worse—”

“Look, just tell me straight if you’ll hire me,” Harry cut him off, then added quickly, “sir.”

Kingsley blinked. Uncrossing his fingers, Kingsley leaned back against his chair and closed Harry’s file, his charcoal-like eyes piercing through Harry’s. “You will be accepted into the Auror academy,” he replied, “naturally.”

Harry’s face lit up with a broad grin. It almost made Kingsley feel a twinge of guilt for what he was about to say next.

“That’s great, Kingsley.”

“With one exception.”

Harry continued to smile.

“You must wait a year before you enter the academy. In that time, I strongly advise you complete your final year at Hogwarts. Once the year is complete, you can walk into this office the very next day if you like.”

The smile, as predicted, dropped completely—a grimace-like frown took over instead, leaving Harry’s face pinched and angry.

“Go back to Hogwarts? How—why would you want that?”

“It’s not what I _want_. What I want doesn’t matter. It’s—”

“If you say ‘it’s what you need’,” Harry said warningly.

“It’s what you need,” Kingsley said sternly. “Nobody, and I mean _nobody_ , is considered for this kind of program two months after a traumatic experience to this scale, not without precautions. You being The-Boy-Who-Lived, however, grants certain privileges, I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Privileged Harry Potter,” said Harry sarcastically.

Kingsley’s eyes narrowed. “Of your three reference letters, two expressed concerns of entering the program so soon after the war. One recommended not to accept you at all until you’ve had time to cope.”

Harry gaped. “Cope? I’ve coped. I’ve been coping for years, since I was born! I’ve long since stopped feeling sorry for myself and _moved on_.”

Kingsley sighed wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is my final decision, Harry. What you do in the meantime is your choice. You can go to school or choose not to. Either way, you will have to wait a year before you’re formally accepted into the Auror academy.”

“Why are you doing this?” Harry pleaded, his body thrumming with rage and hurt that his hands were shaking just slightly. “After all that’s happened—after everyone who’s died—you need more people. You know that.”

Kingsley glanced away, and Harry did not miss the unmistakable look of sadness. “Which is exactly more reason you must wait a year,” Kingsley said quietly. “You’re not ready.”

Harry’s nostrils flared as he breathed in and out rapidly, hands clenched into fists. Abruptly he stood, readjusting his formal dress robes, and opened the door to leave.

“Harry,” Kingsley called, and Harry paused by the doorway. He stared at Harry with a familiar melancholy, one Harry had seen worn often by Dumbledore. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid.”

Harry slammed the door loudly behind him.

**-:-**

“That can’t be right,” Hermione shook her head fervently as she rummaged through her bag. “No, it’s breaking dozens of amended laws, I’m sure—don’t worry, Harry, we’ll sort this out.”

As Hermione pushed her drink aside and dropped a large book open on the kitchen table, Ron made a noise of sympathy.

“It’s messed up, mate. Who in their right mind would reject _you_ from an Auror position? Shacklebolt’s gone mental.”

“I wasn’t rejected, I was—given leave,” Harry groused. “Before I was even given the job.”

“I’ve half a mind to go up and see him,” Ginny muttered darkly as she peered over Hermione’s book. “What’s he thinking, not letting you work in the Auror office? They need you, for Merlin’s sake.”

A loud _pop_ and the clink of the Weasley clock indicated George’s arrival, and within seconds the kitchen door opened.

“Evening, lads and ladies. Where’s mum?” George asked as he removed a bright pink bowler hat from his head.

“Upstairs in the spare room,” said Ginny. A silent exchanged passed between them, and George nodded.

“Let’s see if she’s up for some tea, shall we?” George said in an overly cheerful voice, and bound for the stairs.

“I’ll go as well,” Ginny glanced at Harry. His eyes were trained intently on his glass of pumpkin juice. Ron scratched his neck uncomfortably. “Harry, wouldn’t you like…”

“Hermione, did you find something?” Ron asked loudly, and Hermione leaned closer to the book until she was centimeters from the page.

“Almost,” she muttered, “almost…there!”

Hermione straightened, triumphant, and narrowly avoided a collision with Ron’s nose, who had the good sense to jerk back just in time. None noticed Ginny leave the kitchen.

“According to Icthylion’s Law, implemented 1st July 1997, ‘all students who were aged seventeen during the Battle of Hogwarts are hereby excluded from regulatory requirements of N.E.W.T.s and/or Seventh year accreditation for any department of employment, including but not limited to management, office, field work, or government personnel’—Harry, this is it! Shacklebolt can’t deny you entry to the Auror academy!”

“That’s the thing, he hasn’t denied me,” said Harry emphatically. “He’s forcing me to wait a year before I start working. That law won’t help if Shacklebolt’s not breaking it!”

“Then maybe it’s for the best,” said Hermione briskly, closing the book.

Ron was stunned. “How’d you figure that? Harry’s got every right—”

“He _does_ have every right,” said Hermione coolly. “But clearly Shacklebolt’s not the only one who thinks Harry should wait a year. All three of his recommendations said he won’t be able to handle it!”

Hermione’s words cut him deeply. “I can handle it,” Harry said testily.

Hermione turned to Harry, and her expression softened. “Nobody doubts that,” she said gently. “But they have a point. It’s too early. The war only just ended, and we’re all still trying to recover. The last thing anyone needs is more stress. Not without the proper time to readjust.” She stuffed the book back into her bag, scowling when it took a particularly harsh shove to force the book inside. “Frankly, I agree with Shacklebolt. You should come back to Hogwarts.”

“Fat chance,” Ron snorted, leaning lazily against the chair.

“ _You_ should be coming back for your final year, too,” Hermione’s eyes flashed dangerously at Ron. “You don’t even have a plan of what you’ll do now. Finishing school would at least give you time to think about it while also learning new material.”

“I told you I’d help Mum and Dad out,” said Ron defensively.

“Getting your diploma will help them even more,” Hermione shot back.

“Guys, please,” Harry said weakly as they bickered over each other. “Let’s not discuss this anymore.”

Unwillingly, they dropped the subject. Ron and Hermione still shot glares at each other as Harry took a long sip of pumpkin juice, staring out the window and watching the sun slowly dim in the sky.

“So, er,” Hermione started, “have you talked to Mrs. Weasley?”

Harry groaned inwardly. “Not more than what you see every day,” he said uneasily. “I didn’t realize how upset she’d get when I moved out. Ginny thinks I ought to say something but I don’t know what else is left.”

“You can’t blame Mum for being upset,” Ron said quietly. “After everything…and when you decided to leave, she felt she lost you too.”

“She hasn’t!” Harry exclaimed, frustrated. “I told her it wasn’t anything she’d done, I just—just need someplace for myself, you know? The burrow will always be my home, but she can’t’ve expected me to stay here forever.”

“Expected more than three weeks,” Ron muttered. Hermione glanced between them worriedly. Harry felt the distinctive urge to shout, to say they had it all wrong, but before he could get another word in, the sound of people rushing down the staircase filled the kitchen.

“Harry!” Molly’s arms were outstretched and Harry stood to welcome them, engulfed in a warm hug that seemed to relieve some of the tension in his muscles. “You’re here for dinner, how wonderful! Arthur should be here any minute. I’ll get the chicken roasting.”

“Mum’s been doing some cleaning,” George patted her fondly on the shoulder, leaning down to drop a kiss on her cheek. Harry’s insides coiled with guilt when he noticed the redness around Molly’s eyes. “We found her elbow-deep in dust.”

“It has to be done,” said Molly firmly, taking out several pans. “Now that there are fewer people living here, everything’s gathered dust and dirt, absolutely filthy, I had to do something…”

“Did you find anything to help Harry’s case, Hermione?” asked Ginny as she sat next to Harry.

“No,” said Hermione wistfully. “I don’t think anything can be done.”

“Ginny told me what Shacklebolt said,” Molly noted as she took out a large knife and began slicing some onions. “He means well, Harry. He’s only looking out for you.”

“Yeah, well, his concern is leaving me unemployed,” said Harry shortly.

“Well _I’m_ not going back,” Ron crossed his arms proudly. “You’d have to drag me there. I don’t know why you’re returning, Hermione, you’re overqualified as it is.”

“Because, Ronald, I happen to value a full education,” Hermione sniffed. “There’s seven years for a reason.”

“I just realized, we’ll be the same year,” said Ginny mildly, and the two girls grinned at each other.

“I’m not going,” Harry said to himself, staring down at his hands. “I don’t need it.”

**-:-**

They stared at each other for a long time before the silence broke.                                                 

“It’s good to see you, Potter,” McGonagall’s Scottish accent came strongly as she smiled at him.

The office was untidy, but Harry could tell McGonagall was seeing to fixing that; stacks of worn books lined the walls while empty portrait frames were shoved in the far corner of the room. The only portrait that remained on the wall behind McGonagall’s desk was of Dumbledore, who was snoring softly in his frame. Most of Dumbledore’s trinkets and whirring contraptions were gone—Snape’s doing, Harry thought—and he could make out a small, porcelain plate lying cracked and forgotten under a rug. He could have sworn it purred.

Harry finally looked away from the office and back to McGonagall. “It’s good to see you too, Professor.”

McGonagall considered him lengthily. “I assume you’ve come with questions.”

“Just the one,” said Harry. “The reference letter you wrote for me. You were the one who advised I wait before entering the Auror academy.”

McGonagall did not bat an eye.

“I told you in your fifth year, Potter, that I would go to great lengths to ensure you became an Auror. I still hold to my word.” Her eyes narrowed, and Harry shifted uncomfortably. “It is my belief that entering the academy at the present moment will not help you achieve that goal.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed, before deflating completely. McGonagall didn’t believe in him either. Normally he would be stung, but all he felt…was an overwhelming emptiness.

“You think coming back will help me?”

McGonagall nodded, watching Harry carefully as he stared past her at Dumbledore’s portrait. “This school still has lessons to teach you, Potter. As do I.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll return to my seventh year.” Before McGonagall could get a word in, Harry said quickly, “But I have some conditions.”

McGonagall glared. From behind her, Albus’s portrait said merrily, “A true Gryffindor indeed!”

**-:-**

Harry closed McGonagall’s door and whirled around, only to crash into a wall.

The wall had ginger hair and lanky limbs, with a slack-jawed stare that made Harry start to laugh uncontrollably when he gathered himself off the floor. The wall was far too embarrassed to do much else than shrug.

 **-:-**  

Hermione’s smile was so wide that Harry was convinced it would prance off her face and parade around the room, if only Ron had not glared so intently.

“Don’t you _dare_ say it, Hermione. Don’t you dare do it,” Ron hissed, his ears bright pink.

Hermione mimed a zip pulling over her lips, but the smile remained as she took a sip of water.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione turned to him with genuine concern. Harry gave a questioning look. “Do you know where the pot and the kettle are?”

**-:-**

It was raining hard when the train pulled into Hogwarts station, thick, fat sheets of rain pounding the paved road in turbulent ripples; the wind howled against the shadowed mountains and a streak of lightning illuminated the thestral-drawn carriages, as well as a towering half-giant that stood before them.

“Firs’ years!” Hagrid’s voice boomed over the thunder, holding up a large lantern. “Firs’ years, this way!”

Harry kept his hood drawn, shivering against the chill that settled in his bones. Hermione and Ron were at his side and clinging to his arms, the three of them huddled together as they made their way onto a carriage. Harry did not need to consider if they could see them, if the other returning Seventh years could see them, if the little ones who had been first years during the war could see them; there were no shocked gasps, no looks of wonder as the carriages began moving.

The Great Hall was warm, and Harry heard several sighs of relief. Turning his own wand to himself, he spelled his robes dry and rubbed his frozen hands together. He didn’t notice the crowd until he stuffed his wand back in his pocket and took off his hood.

Ginny, Neville, Luna, Seamus, Dean, and the Patil twins were around him in an instant; beyond that, there were many faces he recognized and dozens of others he did not; snatches of “Harry Potter” “the savior” “saved us all” surrounded him until a dull throbbing began in the back of his head. Harry backed away and sucked in a shallow breath, his eyes wide, and suddenly felt himself unable to move. He could hear Ginny, Neville, and Dean shouting at them to back away, felt Luna’s reassuring touch as she said things he didn’t quite hear.

A large hand clamped onto Harry’s shoulder and roughly yanked him forward. “Oi! On with yeh! Let him breathe!”

Stricken by Hagrid’s fierce glare, the crowd scattered to their tables. Neville and the rest looked at him solemnly as they retreated.

Harry looked up at Hagrid. “Thanks,” he rasped, rubbing his shoulder.

“No worries. Was hopin’ the students would still treat yeh like another student, but when have they ever, eh?”

“Usually when they hate me,” Harry said dryly. “They’ve been consistent with ignoring me then.”

Hagrid smiled. “It won’ come ter that this year. Will the three o’ yeh be stoppin’ by the hut tomorrow for tea?”

A rush of familiar warmth filled Harry’s veins, and he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Yeah, just like always. Seven o’clock?”

Hagrid nodded, and his eyes went watery. Harry’s smile dropped and regarded Hagrid with worry. “Hagrid, are you…?”

“‘M fine,” Hagrid sniffed, and hastily wiped his eyes. “It’s good ter see yeh again, Harry.”

Hagrid sauntered back to the staff table and Harry took a seat by Ginny, looking troubled.

When he heard the Hat’s song, when he heard McGonagall’s start-of-term speech, when he heard the short memorial for all the loved ones lost mere months ago, Harry knew he had neatly settled himself into another year of Hogwarts in its truest fashion. The thought left him feeling…tired.

A prickly sensation rose on the back of Harry’s neck, and he turned his head. Across the room at the Slytherin table, Draco Malfoy was staring at him.

Malfoy looked away when their eyes connected, staring back at the students getting sorted.

Some things, it seemed, would never change. And Harry was damn relieved he made that deal with McGonagall before re-enrolling.


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Finally came back with a chapter. 
> 
> I've edited the author's note in chapter one, and I suggest taking a look at it. I've amended my consideration, and after writing this story on my own for some time, the relationship it has naturally led to is not canon, but Harry and Draco. I hadn't meant it, but the characters did what the wanted and I am not one to stop them.
> 
> That said, this is extremely slow-build and the plot, as well as Harry's recovery, takes absolute precedence.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter Two**

**.**

**.** **:.**

**.:.:.:.**

“If you desire healing,  
let yourself fall ill  
let yourself fall ill.”

**-** Rumi

**.:.:.:.**

**.:.**

**.**

Harry’s first instinct upon waking in the four-poster bed was to go completely still.

Heart thundering in his chest, it took Harry several deep breaths to remember he was, in fact, at Hogwarts again. A student again. It was perfectly normal to wake in a bed and not in a weathered tent.

At Ron’s loud snore, the tension eased from Harry’s body. Reaching for his glasses, he sat up and stared out the fogged window. The rain had stopped some time during the night, and a faint mist now floated over the grounds. Quietly, Harry slipped out of the bed and grabbed a cloak.

The castle was silent as he went down the staircase, the only sound coming from his slippers that echoed with each step. As he crossed the entrance hall the wall lamps feebly stirred, a dim flame flickering briefly before extinguishing as Harry strode quickly past them.

His hand was on the door handle when a voice stopped him.

“Potter?”

Harry turned. It was a Ravenclaw boy, one Harry recognized to be a year below him—well, _had_ been a year below. They were both seventh years now.

“I remember you,” said Harry. The boy looked startled. “Henley Corbet, right?”

“I—yes,” said Corbet, his ears turning pink.

“You fought Greyback,” said Harry. “I saw you. Just before he turned to Lavender Brown—I saw you.” He paused for a moment, remembering. “Then again in the courtyard when Voldemort came to the castle.”

“Y…yes,” said Corbet finally. “When Hagrid was…was holding you.”

Harry noticed the golden _Head Boy_ badge pinned to his chest.

“I won’t be long,” Harry explained. Corbet gaped, his mouth opening and closing in a remarkable impression of a fish.

“It’s…not allowed,” he said half-heartedly. Harry watched him struggle for a second more before turning away.

“I won’t be long,” Harry said again, and turned the handle. He looked back at Corbet. “You did good, Corbet. It wouldn’t have been the same without you. Without all of you.”

Harry closed the door behind him.

The grass beneath his slippers squelched loudly as sloped down the hill, and Harry breathed in deeply. The thick fog made the path before him indistinguishable, but his feet guided him on instinct. Before long Harry stood at the edge of the Black Lake, staring contemplatively at the murky water.

Harry sat down and leaned back, his hands supporting his weight. The sun had still not risen but he knew it wouldn’t be long before the clouds lost their darkness, when light would softly spread across the terrain.

Had he made the right decision in coming back? Already he was feeling—

Harry sighed, stopping the thought. It didn’t matter what he felt last night. He’d made a decision, and now he had to stick with it.

“Tch.”

Harry stilled. Whipping his head in the direction of the noise, he was shocked to see a retreating blond head.

“Malfoy?”

He blinked several times, hoping perhaps it had been a mirage. But Malfoy it was, the unmistakable silhouette and gait gave him away. Harry scrambled to his feet and ran towards him. “Hey!”

Malfoy stopped. Harry’s shoes slipped a bit on the grass as he came to a sudden halt, just a step away from Malfoy’s sour face.

“What?” Malfoy demanded.

Harry was taken aback. His mouth opened and closed, breath coming out in a visible puff. Malfoy stared at him a second longer, his scowl melting into something Harry could not understand in those five seconds.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy turned around and stalked back to the castle.

Harry sighed. A splash came from the Black Lake and Harry turned to look—the giant squid had popped its head out from the water and little bubbles rippled around it, as if chortling. Harry soured.

“Oh what would you know,” Harry snapped.

**-:-**

**“** It’s a bit exciting, isn’t it?” said Hermione cheerfully. She poured over her schedule—the very last schedule they’d ever have from Hogwarts—and smiled brightly. “Do you think classes will be easier, now that we’ve had practical experience?”

“Dos eff ma’ar?” Ron mumbled with his mouth full of pork sausage.

Hermione gave a disgusted look. Taking a massive swallow, Ron wiped the bit of food from his mouth with his sleeve. “Does it matter? We killed Voldemort. We’re going to get ‘Outstandings’ in everything no matter how we do in class.”

“ _Harry_ killed Voldemort,” Hermione said smartly, “and giving us ‘Os’ in everything goes against all academic integrity! They wouldn’t.”

“Think about it Hermione. Who wants to be the professor who failed the Boy Who Lived Again? And the two best friends who saved the wizarding world with him?” Ron shook his head and speared another sausage on his fork. “It’s just not going to happen.”

Hermione’s mouth parted to respond, but she glanced at Harry as if to say ‘ _can you believe this?’_

Harry shrugged, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. “He’s got a point. It’s different now, for us at least.”

Her eyes widened in horror.

“Oh…oh no…”

Ignoring Hermione’s stricken look, Harry wiped his hands and picked up his schedule. “Potions first thing in the morning,” he muttered. “Wonder what Slughorn’ll be like this year.”

Ron and Hermione nodded silently. It was a question Harry thought of a lot lately—what will the professors be like, now that everything has changed? What would the students be like, with him sitting with them? Something twisted in his gut and Harry involuntary glanced at the door, but he quickly squashed down the urge to bolt. He made a decision and he was going to stick by it. There was no use running this time.

Heaving a sigh, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder and stood up. A lull fell over the Great Hall, and whispers darted past his ears. Harry paused, looking in surprise at the dozens of eyes that were now fixed on him. It rooted him to the spot, and suddenly he felt ill.

Ron and Hermione scrambled to their feet, drawing Harry’s attention away from the stares. Ron made an effort to be as loud as possible, snapping, “You’d think they’ve never seen someone stand up before!”

Ron’s comment clearly had an effect; the hall was bustling again, and nobody so much as glanced at Harry. Something unfurled in his gut, and just like that the tension in his muscles eased. He even managed a genuine smile, knocking his elbow into Ron’s. “C’mon, I want to get there early. We’ll finally get a decent seat this year.”

The dungeons were largely untouched from the Battle, but remnants of that night remained. Parts of the walls were blackened as if charred from flames—fiendfyre, perhaps. Harry remembered Crabbe using it…maybe he used here too.

Slughorn was sitting behind his desk as Harry, Hermione, and Ron strolled inside the dimly light classroom. He brightened and waved, giving a small “Harry m’boy!” before wringing his hands, then falling silent.

To their surprise, a flood of Ravenclaws entered the classroom instead of Slytherins, catching Harry off-guard. Ron seemed to share Harry’s puzzlement.

“Ravenclaw?” Ron frowned. “Have we ever—?”

“No,” Hermione shook her head, looking intrigued. “Not ever. I wonder why?”

“Dunno,” Harry muttered. Harry couldn’t remember a time when he sat in a Potions room and a Slytherin wasn’t nearby. It was part of the schedule but more importantly it was part of Snape’s routine, to dole out magnanimous House points to his students and to dock as many as he could from Gryffindor. Harry’s lips twitched.

Once everybody was seated and chattering away, Slughorn stood up and walk to the front of his desk, velvety green robes swishing behind him. “Tut, tut!” He clapped his hands twice, and the room quieted. Slughorn smiled broadly. “Welcome, seventh years! Today marks the final _first day_ of Potions. If you’re here now it means you’re either very serious about your career path, or Professor Flitwick had one too many bottles of sherry whilst organizing your schedules.” The class chuckled, prompting Slughorn’s smile to widen. “If the former, I am very proud indeed.”

Hermione’s back seemed to straighten further at that, her lips pressed together as if holding back a smile.

“I assume you’re all planning on taking your N.E.W.T.s?”

The students exchanged wary glances. “Actually, sir,” said a Ravenclaw girl, “there’s been a law—anyone who was seventeen during the Battle at Hogwarts is exempt from N.E.W.T. examinations.”

Slughorn’s eyes bugged out. “Ah! Yes, I heard about that…silly of me to forget. Well regardless of where you stand in terms of examinations, this course will continue at an accelerated pace. I advise you keep up with your studies if you do not wish to do a ninth year!”

They laughed again, but Harry could not muster even the smallest smile. Something sank deeply in his stomach at hearing that last bit. He couldn’t imagine doing another year of this, a _ninth_ year—Boy Who Lived Again or not, even that would put Harry to shame…the Daily Prophet would only too eager to put it on a headline— _The Boy Who Failed: Harry Potter, Hero or Dunce?_

Ron seemed to be reconsidering his choice too—he was smiling weakly at Slughorn, but his eyes quickly darted to his textbook with unmasked horror. Harry wanted to reassure him that Ron wasn’t nearly as rubbish at Potions as Harry was, but Slughorn already began the day’s lesson.

“Today we’ll be brewing a very complicated draft, and it will take several weeks to successfully brew.” With a glint in his eye, Slughorn said, “Turn to page 116.”

Harry flipped open his book and shuffled through the pages until he landed on an ominous-looking chapter. His eyes widened.

“Polyjuice potion?” Hermione blurted, surprised.

“Indeed, Miss Granger! One of the hardest potions to make and requires constant care and meticulous brewing. Yes, this will certainly test how good a potion maker you are.” Slughorn withdrew his wand from his robes and flicked it towards the store closet. It opened with a gentle swing. “Anyone notice something different about the store today?”

Ron raised his hand.

“Mr. Weasley?”

“It’s, er…empty, sir.”

“Rightly so!” Slughorn nodded. “To be a true Potions Master, you must be able to scavenge the ingredients by yourselves. The textbook provides thorough explanation on where to find the necessary components to brew this potion and I expect all of you to collect them accordingly. I will act only as an academic guide this year. You will be on you own entirely.” Slughorn shrugged mildly. “Also because of the nature of Polyjuice potion, it would be impossible for me to provide a classroom with the accurate ingredients as they should be administered. Now, off you go.”

Begrudgingly they began packing their things and checking the list of ingredients in the Potions book. The Ravenclaws were muttering worriedly but did not seem too distressed as they passed by Harry.

Harry heaved a sigh and glanced at Hermione. “This should be easy for you, then?”

Hermione glared, but Harry could tell she was containing her excitement. “Luckily the full moon is three days from now, we’ll easily gather the fluxweed—I’m worried about the lacewing flies, though. They need twenty-one days of brewing before adding to the actual potion…this is going to be difficult in a classroom setting…”

“As opposed to a girl’s lavatory?” Ron smirked.

“There was a lot of creative freedom in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, I’ll have you know,” Hermione sniffed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron yawned widely, jamming his textbook inside his bag. “Where’re you headed first?”

“What’s it to you?”

“We’re following wherever you go.”

Hermione bristled. “Is that so? Do you plan on copying everything I do for this potion?”

“Of course we are!” Ron exclaimed. “You’ve done this already, you know what to do best! And you heard Slughorn, he’ll fail us into an extra year if we don’t pass!”

“I thought you weren’t worried?” said Hermione loftily. “What with the automatic ‘O’s and all.”

“Oh come off it, Hermione. Harry, back me up.”

Harry was smiling when his mouth parted to reply, but the words never came out. In that instant a loud _bang!_ resounded in the classroom as if an Exploding Snap had gone off. Harry’s body reacted without him thinking; his wand was out in an instant and his knees hit the ground, crouching low with a spell already forming on his lips. His ears were ringing and his vision narrowed, seeing only the distance before him, the sounds and the smells and the thudding in his ribcage—

“Harry! _Harry!_ ”

Something was shaking his shoulders. Harry blinked, his vision clearing slowly. The ringing in his ears vanished; Ron was crouching before him with his hand clasped firmly on Harry’s shoulders.

“Hey,” Ron’s voice was low, staring into Harry’s eyes. “It’s me, mate. It’s alright. One of the Ravenclaw’s bag broke, that’s all. It’s fine.”

Harry glanced behind Ron and saw the pile of books spilled on the floor, and a very torn book bag resting on top of it. His eyes locked with the student kneeling beside the books, and Harry blinked.

It was Henley Corbet, the Head Boy. He was frozen still, looking anxious.

Harry’s throat went dry. Hermione was hovering beside Ron and Harry, her hand placed gently on Harry’s back. It was then that Harry realized a small circle had formed around them, the classroom standing still in deafening silence. He could see on their faces the same grim look Harry felt inside him every day. They did not stare but they did not shuffle away either; it wasn’t until Harry nodded jerkily and stood up that they began to scatter.

Harry glanced down, muttering, “Let’s just get the ingredients…”

Slughorn appeared before them, looking grave. “Harry,” he said quietly, his voice full of concern. “Do you need the Hospital Wing?”

“ _No_ ,” said Harry a bit more forcefully than he meant to. “I’m fine, Professor. I just want to start on the assignment.”

He could feel Ron and Hermione’s gaze on him as they walked out of the castle in search for lacewing flies, but they said nothing. Harry’s fingers curled into his palms.

**-:-**

By dinner the whole school knew what had happened during Potions. Harry walked into the Great Hall and heard the sudden hush, and promptly turned back around.

He declined Ron and Hermione’s company, feigning fatigue and telling them he’d just head back to the dormitory. As Harry pass the doors to the Entrance Hall he paused, debating on whether it would be worth a stroll on the grounds. Harry was halfway to the doors when he heard the distinctive sound of banter and laughter. He turned back to the stairs.

Just as he was crossing the third floor, a sharp voice stopped him. “Potter.”

Harry turned around in surprise. “Professor McGonagall?”

“I was just going to send for you,” she said, and Harry caught glimpse of a note in her hand. “If you would come to my office for a moment.”

Harry’s stomach dropped. He could feel his face heating up when he said, “I’m alright, Professor.”

McGonagall gave him a flinty look. “If I wanted to know that, Potter, I would have asked.”

Wordlessly, she marched back into the third floor corridor to one of the Transfiguration rooms. The candles lit as they stepped inside, and Harry followed McGonagall to the back room led by a short set of stairs and a marble ledge.

Once settled in their chairs, McGonagall fixed Harry with an unreadable look. “Professor Slughorn informed me of what happened.”

Harry stiffened. “It was nothing, Professor. Just a knee-jerk reaction. It won’t happen again.”

McGonagall inhaled slowly, as if piecing together what she wanted to say. “I have been alive a very long time, Potter.” Harry frowned. He didn’t expect that. “I may not have long white hair as Dumbledore did, but I am an old woman. I have seen many things. I have _felt_ many things.”

Harry said nothing.

“I won’t sit here and tell you the horrors of my past, Potter, but I will tell you this. Pretending does not fool the people who care about you and it does not fool yourself. Denying that there is something…different…is a dangerous path.”

“Of course it’s different,” said Harry angrily. “I know it is. It’s not like I have a choice in forgetting that with the way people are around me.”

McGonagall sighed, suddenly looking very tired. “You know what I’m going to ask of you, Potter.”

Harry shook his head, his heart sinking. “Please Professor, I’m fine,” Harry said desperately. “I’m _fine_.”

“Why won’t you consider it?” McGonagall’s eyes saddened, and Harry gripped the chair tightly.

“Because—because I’m fine, okay, I’m—there’s loads of people who’ve got it worse than me! I’ll only be wasting everyone time if I—” Harry breathed harshly through his nostrils, a slight tremor shaking his hands. “I’m not crazy.”

McGonagall stared at him for a long moment. Harry panted as if he’d been on a long jog, but he could not look away from McGonagall, hoping his meaning would bear through her mind. Finally, she said, “Until you are ready, then. But I am strongly advising for it, Potter. There is no shame in wanting help.”

Harry almost made to leave, but McGonagall waved her hand. “Sit, I’m not finished. As of tomorrow, you will be Head Boy.”

Harry’s jaw dropped. “ _What?_ ”

“Head Boy, Potter. I’m assigning the position to you effective tomorrow morning.”

“There’s already a Head Boy!” said Harry indignantly. “You can’t take that away—”

“The currently Head Boy handed his badge in,” McGonagall cut him off with a sharp look. Harry was dumbfounded. _Henley resigned from being Head Boy?_ Harry didn’t even know that was possible. “It is unprecedented, I agree. But I firmly believe you would be the best candidate next.”

“I resign too,” Harry said quickly, but McGonagall shook her head at once.

“I’m afraid you can’t. This is part of the conditions I’m setting for you as I said I would two weeks ago. If you won’t seek help, Potter, I’m going to keep you busy. Head Boy duties will be your new job for the next ten months. In addition,” McGonagall glowered when Harry groaned, “ _in addition_ , you will meet me in the Headmistress office twice a week, Tuesday and Friday. There we will discuss you lessons and your plans. They will be short debriefings but they are mandatory and you must attend.”

“Professor, _please_. You don't want me as Head Boy. I'm going to muck it all up.”

“End of discussion, Potter,” said McGonagall shortly. Harry pressed his lips in a line, feeling agitated. “Before you accuse me of foul play, remember your conditions are still fully in effect. You may leave Hogwarts whenever you desire, given you return before curfew and you do not let it affect your performance in your studies. I suggest your use this privilege to your advantage.”

“I plan to,” said Harry. “Is that all?”

McGonagall nodded. “Yes.” She opened a drawer and leaned over the table to where Harry sat, and placed a bright golden pin before him.

Harry picked it up and left the office.

**-:-**

It was not difficult finding him. Dinner was finished and students were filing out of the Great Hall, looking sleepy and well-fed. Henley was just heading to the staircase when Harry grabbed him by the arm.

Henley looked at Harry in surprise. “Harry—”

“Why?” Harry demanded. “Why did you resign?”

Henley’s cheeks tinged pink, and he averted his gaze. “I…I’m not qualified. I don’t deserve the badge.”

“The hell you’re not,” Harry hissed. He fished the badge from his pocket and thrust it in Henley’s face, holding it up with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re much more qualified than I am.”

Henley paled.

“How—when did you—?”

“Just now in McGonagall’s office,” said Harry. The students were gone and the doors to the Great Hall closed. It was only the two of them on the staircase. “If this is about—I don’t even know what it’s about, but you shouldn’t have given this up. You deserve it more than I do.”

“It’s not about deserving, Harry,” said Henley quietly. He sighed quietly. “This morning, before you left to walk the grounds, you said something to me. And it’s made me feel like a fraud.”

Harry narrowed his eyes in confusion. “What?”

Henley swallowed, unable to meet Harry’s eyes. He was clenching his jaw tightly and Harry grew even more confused.

“You said that you—saw me, saw while I was fighting off Greyback—and I was, technically. But I’m not—I’m not what you think I am. I’m no hero. I wasn’t brave at all. Lavender—she _saved_ me. She—she saw him overpowering me, saw how I _panicked_ and froze and she—she—for me…”

It was then that Harry understood, and the anger that had been coursing through his veins dissipated all at once. Henley’s eyes glassed over, and Harry grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Hey.” Harry peered into Henley’s eyes. “She knew what she was doing, alright? She knew the risk of fighting that day. You’re not to blame for what happened to her at all. Don’t you dare disrespect her memory like that. Don’t…don’t…” Harry looked away, clenching his hands. “Don’t hurt yourself like that. It wasn’t your fault. It was Greyback’s fault. It was Voldemort’s fault. It was Peter Pettigrew’s fault. Henley Corbet isn’t responsible for anyone who died that day.”

Henley nodded furiously, not saying anything. Harry was taken by surprise when he hugged Harry hard, sniffling. Harry awkwardly pat his back, going, “There, there…”

Strangely, the knot in Harry’s chest disappeared afterwards. Harry slipped the badge in his pocket.

**-:-**

Ron was already asleep by the time Harry went into the dormitory. Quickly changing and brushing his teeth, Harry was just about to take off his glasses when he noticed a small envelope sitting atop his pillow.

Squinting through the darkness, he read the name scrawled on the corner of the letter.

_Andromeda Tonks._

Ripping open the letter, Harry read quickly. His eyes caught something fall from the envelope, and carefully picked up what appeared to be a photograph. Harry’s heart nearly gave out when he saw a tiny child in the picture whose eyes were painfully, achingly familiar.

“Oh,” said Harry. Numbly, he sat on the four-poster bed. Written on the back of the photograph with graceful writing were the words, _Your godson._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for reading and please, let me know what you thought so far! 
> 
> I've no beta so all mistakes shall be sought and corrected over the course of the next few hours.


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